I really got into the cricket and staying up late watching the World Cup.
quote by Jeremy London
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butterfly Flutterby
The butterfly was young
Her vibrant wings of delicate lace
Such grace such poise
A hcarming butterfly
The cricket was slick thicket
Moving quick but swift
Yet smart somewhat wise
Proud of his chirp
Hopping through the grass
Butterfly fluttered by till upon a rose
Spreading her wings a dainty show
Slowly sipping sweet
Hopping skipping
Cricket saw
Butterfly glanced
The cricket saw butterfly
The butterfly looked yonder
Cricket hopped and chirped
A jumpety crickety song
Butterfly sighed
And rolled her eyes
Cricket hopped closer
Butterfly laughed
Silly cricket trying hard
Butterfly cared less
Poor cricket hopped and hopped
Butterfly sipping nectar sweet
Cricket sang sonfter sweeter
Butterfly stopped
A song so sweet
Too lovely than nectar
Cricket hopped upon a rose
Butterfly jumped
Almost to fly away
Cricket song too lovely to fly away
Butterfly in a trance
Fluttering her wings lovely
Too charming
Too tempting
Crickect sang
Butterfly in a spell
Too late to break
Lovers forever
Strange couple though
Yet lovely
Yet happy
Suave cricket, Princess Butterfly
Flutterby, flutterby.......
poem by Bella Ravenstar
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I think we are going to see exciting cricket all the way. We are watching the two best teams in the world-and I think England will eventually go on to pip Australia by a single Test.
quote by Ian Botham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watching Me Watching You
I sit by the cutting on the beaconsfield line.
Hes watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
At the cocktail party with a bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by.
And they move so smooth without even trying.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesnt speak.
I have to look the other way.
But curiosity gets the better part of me and I peek:
Got two drinks in his hand --- see his lips move ---
What the hells he trying to say.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching
The trains go by.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me watching him watching.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lonely Cricket
In the darkest hollow where
echo giants live,
a Lonely Cricket screams cowardly
in cold boots
Lonely Cricket gasps, hidden
in a musky capsule away from
eager steps
Lonely Cricket falls mute from
the trivial flirt of a monstrous tread
In that cave, Lonely Cricket cries –
spewing shards of gossip to cut
insomniac puppets
“O Lonely Cricket what bulbous grapes you have”
“dimmed reflections of your desolation”
May blind feet find you hermit –
a crusty delight of incarnate shell
Creak not your raspy venom
Lonely Cricket…
“For I too can spit”
poem by Phil de Lange
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Cricket's Love Song
cricket's shrill
courting love
each shrill digs
at my lonely heart
each shrill
an extra inch
of lonelines
cricket's shrill
a field of love songs
not even one for me
each shrill chills
this lonely heart
cricket's shrill
courting love
i wonder whether
she would come
for this late night tryst
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Cricket Is Just Another Game
Cricket just like baseball and football and golf is just another game
And though some great cricket players have won Worldwide fame
Cricket for most cricket fans like followers of all other sports
From their life cares is just an escape of sorts
The praises of sports celebrities millions every day do sing
And nowadays sports Worldwide is a huge thing
And those not in some way involved in sport a minority
At least that is how it does seem to me
I've got nothing against cricket I'd like to make that clear
Though on t v and radio so much of it to see and hear
Like every sport for millions of poor people I am aware
A temporary escape from their lives every care
And cricket after all is just another game
Like every other sport it is much the same.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Inside The Dark Closet
you must have liked staying
inside the dark closet
even without the cricket
at least everything there
is neatly folded
with a system of
stacks one thing
over the other in
submissive silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cricket
Reaching peak is a dream
Cricket is viamedia
To reach the peak
Cricket is a dream.
Reaching peak is a dream
Life is a dream
And dream comes true
Cricket is true.
Reaching peak is a dream
Dream is real
Pursue the dream
To enjoy life.
Reaching peak is a dream
Dream is cricket
Cricket sings the song
That enlightened life.
Reaching peak is a dream
Dream comes true
And in truth only
life becomes sincere and fluent.
Everything is cricket
And cricket that makes
both happy and sad
is the mixture that is life.
Life is cricket
Enjoy it
Sing it
And make hurrah.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Wicket Cricket Critic
If the cricket critics' nagging
Merits stern official gagging
Which I doubt
How would critical ascetics,
With their prosy homiletics,
Shut it out?
And the question then arises:
If more cricketing surprises,
Such as bodyline, begin to threaten cricket,
And another stunt, when sprung,
Call for clicking of the tongue,
Should a cricket critic critically click it?
When the barrackers grow lyric
In a manner most satiric
And profane,
How, one ventures still to wonder,
May the clamor be kept under?
How restrain?
For one barbaric larrik-
In can do a lot of barrack-
In', and cause a lot of worry at the wicket.
But would sportsmen be abusing
Cricket canons in refusing
To supply that cricket critic with a ticket?
As a critic analytic
Of the cricket critics' critic
I would say,
When we criticise their cricket,
Then the players have to stick it,
Come what may.
No specific soporific
May be used; for it is diffic-
Ult to strike a critic partly paralytic.
So there's nothing gained in seeking,
As I know; and I am speaking
As a critic of the cricket critic's critic.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Late night driven by
Late night
And i´m sitting here
Watching the dark road pass me by
Trough the car window, there´s him
And then there´s me
Late night
And i´m sitting here
Thinking about the random things that cross my mind
Next to me, there´s him
And then there´s me
Late night
Driving trough the loneliness of the night
Watching my life before my eyes
There´s him and
Then there´s me
Late night
And the radio is the only thing
We can possibly hear at this moment
There´s him and then there´s me
This silence is striking
Late night
Tried falling asleep
There´s him
There´s me
I wonder if he knows that
There is you.
poem by Nina gáspari
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President Kennedy
(sleepy john estes)
Late one friday evening everybody was sad
We lost the best president we ever had
But hes gone home, gone back home
Hes staying away too long
Rode from town to town holdin up for our rights
Some low down rascal took the presidents life
But hes gone home, gone back home
Hes staying away too long
Mrs. kennedy got a mansion on the island, stayed 9 months, all shed be
She have another mansion, soon as she reach washington, d.c.
But hes gone home, gone back home
Hes staying away too long
Everybody votes, they dont know whats goin on
If goldwater get it, we wont have no home
But hes gone home, gone back home
Hes staying away too long
While horses and cars all in a row
I think mr. kennedy have a right to this long white robe
But hes gone home, gone back home
Hes staying away too long
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buffalo Watching
Have you ever gone Buffalo watching?
Oh, I have and it’s just the greatest thing
Especially if you’re right out in the open
It’s nice if it’s summer or late spring
The babies are so adorable too
Staying right close to their moms
There is no animal that is as beautiful
With such class and wonderful charm
Their massive heads are the part
Of this amazing animal I love most
If you wander into their world
I’m sure they’d be the perfect host
But be careful, folks if you get out
Of the vehicle that you’re riding in
If that huge animal gets ahold of you
You would really go for a spin
I hope you get a chance some day
To mix right in with the crowd
The Buffalo crowd of course I mean
They’ve made our country so proud!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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A Win Of Cricket 2011
So I remember this cricket we win
with fresh flower for you Indians
and the wonderful sights you made here
winning the match 2011
Then we 'll go to there
deep under the emotions
and go over a great moments
to skate through our great dreams
and be under the thrill
I love to play with them,
And to watch them with you
I cannot live without cricket
I will never forget playing cricket in those days
poem by Thampi KEE
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Late Night Mom
Late night mom
You know what to do
Doesn’t matter now
The monsters won’t say boo
You’re up so late
The moon’s asleep too
Late night mom
The kids worry
All night long
They wake up
And you’re passed out on the lawn
Late night mom
Knows just what to do
Your kid’s staying up late
To see what you’ll do
Thinking to herself
Why isn’t mommy in bed?
Late night mom is
Sleeping with the meds
Too close for comfort
A fire by the house
Smoking your cigarette
Thinking without a doubt
Late night mom
Is chilling in the house
Late night mom
Sleeping on the couch
Instead of in her bed
A cushion instead
Of a warm husband’s embrace
Late night mom
Passed out on the floor
Don’t wake the kids
You’re just asking for more
Around two or four
Dad will come out
And pick you up
While you pout
He’ll carry you over
To the room overhead
And help you climb
Slowly to bed
poem by Scarred Unknown
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Late Cat
Late to train
Late to bus
Late to class
And late to party;
She is everywhere a late cat!
Late to eat
Late to sleep
Late to fate
And late to luck;
She is for everything a late cat!
Late to clock
Late to block
Late to dash
Against the truck
And, lo! Even late to death;
She is always a late cat!
poem by Sasikala Kamandula
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Late Winter
This Winter came so late,
It hasn't even come,
The warmth still remains,
From late Autumn,
At thirteen it stays,
No frost, wind or coldness,
No shrill in the voices of men,
As they stare into the oncoming snow,
The breeze and quality ice,
Nothing... nothing at all...
It doesn't feel like Winter,
It feels like Late Winter,
That the control panel,
For Winter has been overridden,
Taken over, not knowing when,
How, or even why to start,
Journal burnt in Autumn,
Crisp, warm weather,
Nothing remains,
No snow walks, evenings by the fire,
Staying away from the cold,
So warm...
Please, Late Winter,
Arrive, we're waiting,
So real Winter can begin,
At full speed, steaming ahead,
Faster than the world can take it,
Late Winter... arrive...
poem by Viraj Bhanshaly
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Watching And Waiting
Watching the world fly by as I sit here
Waiting for you to come for so long
I've turned into a statue sitting here on this bench
waiting for you and watching the world fly by
People once looked at me now I'm just part of the scenery
Waiting for you to come for so long
watching the world fly by as I sit here
I think you forgot and the world did too
about the girl you once knew who now
sits here waiting for you never knowing that you'll never will
and watching the world fly by as she sits there
poem by Amanda Shields
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Black Bruises I
I can stare into the blackness,
the void of many abysses
behind every dark curtains
I can endure calm and silence
watching pole dancers grind,
watching stars scintillate,
watching still shadows on the walls,
watching dislimned reflections,
watching trees pass me by,
watching ethers wash the screen,
watching my lonely feet,
watching little things sway;
but am I the only one watching
these black bruised visions?
poem by Norman Santos
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Watching For Pa
Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Nellie, with ringlets of sunny hue,
Cosily nested between the two;
Pressing her cheeks to the window pane,
Wishing the absent one home again.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Now there are shouts from the window seat;
There is a patter of childish feet;
Gaily they rush through the lighted hall --
"Coming at last" is the joyful call.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Sunrise And Sunset
SUNRISE AND SUNSET
Sunrise and sunset moments of mystery of the vast universe
In shadows of life sun and moon following each other
Like a clock work staying in the tracks without coheres
Sunlight and moonlights luster lights up the world together forever
Roaming the skies complimenting each other strolling in Milky Way
Staying in the path never going stray morning and evening
Drawing the invisible lines keeping from crossing night and day
From dawn to dusk without a break raising and setting
Keeping the cycle in flow of time to be precise
Never stopping or pausing staying in pace with natural order
In harmony with the seasons always staying close to concise
Within the circle of other planets leaning on each other
World of conundrum that we live in life’s journey
Mystic of the creator whether it be sunny or rainy
poem by Ashram Ashram
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